The Holy Trinity
The goddess is giver of life
She reignites the disintegrating
Perhaps to her own detriment,
The world should tremble all the same
She is not omnipotent
Nor omniscient
Certainly not omnipresent
Through her omnibenevolence she is made worthy.
With hands like feathers
And words like a spade
I am lifted from the earth
Clay, not yet fashioned like man.
Unformed, unfounded, unloved
She sees no difference
I am valued in more than name
She breathes me to life.
The messiah is another story
Still gnarled and limping,
Blood flows sluggishly from open wound
It stains the corners of her mouth in mirth.
Her touch is a rarity
Hallowed for its exclusivity
A playful shove or gentle smack
Her blood stains with divinity
She is unknown
Yet never unnamed in my memory
She is reborn in perpetuity
The sweetest victory I e’er bore witness to.
Her holey hands have molded me
Begun and given frame
Through the mystery of her love
I find I am taken shape.
Now, hark!
The Holy Ghost has taken host
From clay and ash,
From blood and bone,
I was determined to become.
Wisps turn to tresses
Smoke to scarred and sacred flesh
Vapor settles to smiles
Behold. I am made new.
